Still
by piperholmes
Summary: "Her heart began to beat quickly, a shiver, a thrill of excitement, all rushing through her as his lips pressed more fully to hers. She reveled in the pleasure of how easily they fit together as they lazily sought each other." Yes, based off THAT kiss. WARNING: Series 3 spoiler speculation.


**Still**

**By: piperholmes**

**A/N: So I couldn't resist. I mean seriously, did anyone expect me to be able to after seeing those delightful—and I mean DELIGHTFUL—photos and trailers? So yes this is purely a fic written based of the recent photo of Sybil and Tom in bed together, and has hints of what has been spoiled so far about Series 3. Again, this is unbeta'd, and can you blame me? When I saw the gif of them kissing (over and over again) this story literally exploded in my head and demanded my attention. I tried to get this done last night but apparently I am physically in capable of staying awake beyond midnight—my children have conditioned me well! Any hoo, again this is just my imaginings. Hope you enjoy. **

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Her eyelids fluttered open and Sybil Branson knew she wasn't alone. The book she had been reading rested wide open against her growing belly, and her arm tingled from its crooked position. The light she had been using to read by still glowed, allowing her to see the form of her husband move quietly around the bed. She blinked several times, trying to rid her eyes of the cottony feeling and drew a deep breath.

The baby had been moving a lot recently, but now lay quiet beneath her skin, which helped to explain why Sybil had so easily dozed off. She had regained much of her stolen energy, it seemed to grow with the size of her stomach—though cousin Isabelle assured her that particular correlation wouldn't last, and she could eventually expect the near constant exhaustion to return the closer she got to her delivery—yet she still found herself nodding off when she least expected.

She watched in silence as her husband undressed, his back tense as he pulled off the dinner jacket. She could almost hear his mind working, deciding whether or not to chuck the offending article of clothing into the fire. In the end he chose to simply drape it over a chair, and the rest of his fancy attire followed suit. Standing in his underclothes, his body cast in shadows from the low light, she couldn't help admire and felt a familiar excited smile tug at her lips. With practiced ease, he tugged on a well-worn white nightshirt, one that molded to his broad frame, and Sybil was immediately grateful her husband had no use for a valet. She needed no one interfering with this delightful side of marriage. Finally he turned to her, moving to take the book from her hands.

When his eyes met hers he froze.

"I didn't mean to wake you," he offered, his voice breaking, caught in the uncertain no man's land where one isn't sure if one is to whisper or speak in a normal tone.

"I didn't mean to fall asleep," she replied back, her own voice gruff from disuse.

He took the book from her, setting on the nightstand near the bed then quietly made his way around the bed and slid under the sheet.

By unspoken agreement Sybil moved to him, aligning her body to his as a ship would to the guiding lighthouse. This was her port and she welcomed the comfort.

"How was your walk?" she asked, her words gliding across his chest, the chest that now served as her pillow.

Tom grunt, the noncommittal sound reverberating under her ear.

She waited.

"They're never going to accept me," he finally declared softly.

She wasn't surprised by the comment. They both knew what she was asking, that her question had very little to do with the beauty of the grand estate at night or physical excursions. They also knew their relationship would not tolerate blithe observations and inane responses. The events on the evening played over in her mind, the condescending comments, the thinly veiled insults, the sneers, the arguments, the eruptions. No, dinner with her family had not gone well.

Sybil's heart ached at the defeat in his voice, and she didn't know what to say to fix it, so she said nothing.

Tom's fingers moved through her short hair, an automatic response to her being near him. "I suppose it was truly foolish of me to believe that they would come round to the idea," he continued, "but I swear I believed it."

Sybil was brought short by the desperation in his tone. Shifting her body, she was able to see his face. His eyes burned with emotion, his jaw set, and she knew he was apologizing to her.

"Tom…" she breathed, her lips falling to a frown.

But the Irishman wasn't ready for her forgiveness. "I shouldn't have allowed myself to get so worked up. I know I promised you I would be ready to accept them with open arms, and I failed tonight. I just gave them further reason to despise me."

"Don't say that," Sybil insisted, her fingers moving to his chin, forcing him to look at her. "They don't despise you."

At Tom's disbelieving look she couldn't help a small smile. Her husband was many things but he would never be any good at cards because his face gave everything away. She often wondered how he had been able to keep his love for her secret for so long.

"They don't," she pressed, her smile growing, as Tom's eyebrow shot up in a familiar fashion.

"My love, it would be a lot easier to believe you if you weren't laughing as you said it," Tom pointed out dryly.

Schooling her features into a more somber expression, Sybil continued, "They don't despise you Tom. Please give them more time. I'm not making excuses for them, but what we did, what _I_ did, hurt them. I rejected the life they gave me, and I know they feel like I rejected them too. But it's easier to blame you than to blame me, so they do."

Tom sighed, leaning his head back against the headboard.

Sybil's own brow lowered in confusion. "It's not like you to give up so easily."

Tom gave a derisive smirk. "I suppose I thought…well I hoped that if they could only see how much I love you, that if they could see that you were happy, they'd be more willing to give me a chance. Let's face it, that's all I have to offer them."

Sybil finally allowed her lips to spread into a full smile. "I suppose I was hoping that if they saw how much I love _you_ and how happy I was they'd be more willing to give us a chance."

"What a pair of naive fools we make," Tom teased, his normal jovial mood returning.

When he had left the drawing room after dinner, his skin red with indignation, his gait aggressive, she had been disappointed. With the tension that had prevailed throughout the evening meal and the weight of judgment so heavy upon his shoulders, she should have been a little more prepared for his exit, a little more forgiving. Yet she was emotional as well, she was learning how to be a wife, a partner, and wasn't immune to making mistakes or mishandling a situation. Rejection hanging hard around their necks, she had followed and confronted him, as expected tempers had flared and harsh words exchanged before Tom had declared he needed some fresh air.

"Oh how they warned us," Sybil answered dramatically, inching her body up his.

"I suppose they were right all along," Tom agreed, eyeing her movement with a smirk.

"Indeed," she breathed against his lips, allowing Tom to lower his head to hers, meeting playfully.

Her heart began to beat quickly, a shiver, a thrill of excitement, all rushing through her as his lips pressed more fully to hers. She reveled in the pleasure of how easily they fit together as they lazily sought each other. She savored the feel of his tongue lightly gliding along her lower lip, seeking to deepen the kiss. She welcomed the overwhelming power of his taste, his body, his love as she allowed him the access he treasured.

His low moan danced through her body, telling her that he was just as affected by their contact. It wasn't a kiss of passion, not this time, this time it was a renewal, a commitment, a connection that could never be taken away.

Sybil pulled back, giving his hand a squeeze. "You're wrong," she stated boldly, her chest rising and falling quickly, trying to catch her breath.

The tilt of Tom's head communicated his inability to follow her line of thought.

"You have a great deal to offer," she explained, bringing the conversation back. She pulled his hand to her belly, pressing it against the firm bump. "You truly make me happy. My life with you is more than I could have imagined."

She locked her eyes on his, willing the truth of her words to give him strength. "In the beginning, I would worry that I wasn't up to the challenge, but those moments of doubt never seemed to last long when all I had to do was look at you. As soon as I saw you I felt like I was waking from a dream, a fleeting reality that had no claim on my life. You are my reality. I love you Tom Branson."

He sat up a little straighter, placing a feather-light kiss against her lips. "I'll never tire of hearing those words," he promised. "You're the love of my life Sybil. I never meant this much heartache for you."

"Hush," Sybil commanded, gently pushing him back down and snuggling close to him, settling her rounded belly against his side. She allowed a hand to travel along his ribs and snake under his shirt, tickling his skin as she ran her fingers back and forth. She preferred him the way he slept at home, shirtless, but they weren't home. She placed a slow kiss against his neck. "It's my heart to do with as I want. I never, not for a moment, regret my decision. I admit this is harder then I ever expected but I believe in you, in us. Give my family time, but know you are still my choice. You will always be my choice."

"So being here doesn't make you miss this life?" he asked softly, allowing her—and only her—to hear the vulnerability behind the question.

Taking a deep breath, breathing in the scent of him, she answered, "Being here makes me miss Ireland, miss our home."

Not waiting for a response she buried her nose against him and closed her eyes, allowing the gently rise and fall of his chest to lull her to sleep.

He reached out and turned off the light, plunging the room into darkness. In the still and quiet he whispered, "Good night my Sybil."

She made a small sound in response; already well on her way to the land of Nod. Safe and comfortable with him, and, despite the realization that the battle in front of them may only be beginning, still committed to never giving him up, she slept.

The end

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**I feel there should be an entire story devoted to Tom's white shirt and amazing hair…**

**So I am now beyond giddy and excited—just need the full trailer now to actually make my head explode off my body. I hope this added a little bit of enjoyment to my fellow S/T fans, whose support has just been amazing! Thanks so much for reading!**


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